


Follow You Down

by bouj525



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Post S2, lexa helping clarke, lurker lexa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:18:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouj525/pseuds/bouj525
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just the little ways Lexa might have secretly helped Clarke survive during those three months between S2 finale and S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow You Down

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little OS that I wrote between midnight and 4AM because I refused to believe Lexa stayed away all this time from Clarke.
> 
> A bit OOC, because Lexa is Heda and probably was too busy making important decisions for this scenario to happen.
> 
> Inspired by the songs "Silhouette" by Aquilo, and "Follow you down" by Lights. The lyrics are gold.

_Clarke’s senses were up before she was. She jumped awake when she registered the echoing roar in the forest. Keeping her eyes on an invisible point ahead, she tried to focus her attention on the present moment, on the safety net that surrounded her. Green trees, mountains hidden behind their shadow, the smell of burnt wood and air filling her lungs, she took it all in. She tried to steady her breathing, but her heart could not stop racing, not stop stomping inside her body._

_Pauna was gone._

_She mentally rejected the thought of the monstrous gorilla from her mind. She fought the urge to reach for anything that could make a great weapon, and forced herself to calm down. She was safe. She had had the most uncomfortable nap she’d probably ever have, but she was safe. She couldn’t stop the flood of memories from crashing over her, and just as she was about to give in, she heard the only voice she could trust._

_“It’s okay. You’re safe.”_

_It felt insanely good to hear it out loud, and relief washed over her like a cold shower on the hottest days. She was fine. She glanced over, her blue eyes meeting green, reassuring, ones. She quickly analyzed the situation, and sighed when she realized Lexa had looked over her all this time._

_“How’s your arm?” Clarke asked, shutting down the part of her that felt guilty for allowing herself to take a nap when Lexa could have used some rest._

_“Hurts,” Lexa admitted without a second thought._

_Clarke swallowed the remaining of her guilt. She had no time to feel anything but relief to be alive. The calm Lexa radiated was enough to ease her mind._

_“We should go, the cage won’t hold forever,” Clarke said, getting ready to move as far as possible from the mutated animal._

_Lexa nodded absently, but didn’t move._

_She was replaying the scene over and over in her mind, repeating the diverse ways Clarke never even thought about giving up, never even glanced toward death’s direction. She recalled the way Clarke had told her she didn’t want Lexa to die only because she feared another to become Commander. Lexa frowned ever so lightly as she remembered blue eyes writing her the subtle beginning of an alternative story._

_There was something she wanted to say. If only she could find the right words, the matching tone. It was a simple thought, but a very important one, that she needed to share, because she needed Clarke to hear it. She needed to know Clarke knew it._

_“Wait,” she says, stopping Clarke’s movements._

_Lexa gathered her thoughts. She didn’t want to seem too forward with this woman she had barely met a few days ago. She didn’t want to seem weak to someone who might become her enemy again._

_She had looked over the sleeping figure of Clarke for many hours, guarding their precarious camp against all possible dangers. She had seen the way the blonde struggled with a few bad dreams, never enough to wake up and call them nightmares. She hated seeing Clarke this way, but she was thankful for the vulnerability she had been allowed to witness._

_She wondered if she would ever allow Clarke to see her in such a state._

_“I was wrong about you, Clarke. Your heart shows no sign of weakness.”_

_It was no lie, and Lexa thought she might have found her equal, after too many years spent alone._

_It took her a long minute to get those words out, but her reward came in the form of a strong and playful look from Clarke. Both warriors, forced to become leaders way too soon, understood each other without further details._

_When Clarke’s eyes sparked with a new idea as she formulated a plan against Mount Weather, Lexa felt the walls of her fortress flinch against the weight of her own revelation : She would go to hell and back to make sure Clarke stayed safe._

_She would spend a thousand restless nights, if it meant Clarke was allowed to sleep a single hour without worries in her mind._

***

Lexa sent her messager away, making sure to communicate solely with her eyes. She went back to her tent, only to leave a few seconds later, briefly informing Indra of her plans. She had business to take care of Polis, but she could afford to avoid her responsabilities for a while, or at least, she could pretend to still be Heda while having her mind somewhere else.

She could play pretend, mask her real intention behind eyes in which flood relief from the victory against Mount Weather. She could pretend it was all over, when she knew it was truly the very beginning.

“I will be back soon.”

Indra nodded, hesitation in her eyes. She knew Lexa closely, and the word soon meant nothing anymore. Soon could mean tomorrow, as well as three months from now.

“Where are you going, Heda?”

 “This is none of your business.”

The hard tone was enough to stop anyone from asking for details. Truth was, Lexa had no idea when she would be back, but she hoped it wouldn’t last too long. She didn’t need anyone to tell her it was not Heda’s proper behavior to leave Polis without notice, she was perfectly aware of it.

It didn’t stop her from leaving the city quietly, in the middle of the night, in direction of Camp Jaha, in direction of the person whose trust she no longer had.

Lexa had mastered the art of being invisible, and those skills were useful now, more than ever, as she looked for the messy path Clarke had surely left behind, after leaving her camp, a few days ago. Clarke was a warrior, but a lousy one, Lexa couldn’t help but think as she easily found tracks to follow. The leader of fearless armies rolled her eyes. It was a true miracle the sky people were not all dead already.

It was a miracle she had allowed them to stay alive for so long.

She found Clarke just as the sun rose over the trees. The blonde was sitting on the hard ground, drawing with a small stick, and Lexa felt the air catch in her throat when she recognized familiar red eyes, wet cheeks and raspy breathing. She felt a tiny tug at her heart when she heard quiet sobs and muttered words she knew were tainted by themes of guilt and self hatred.

She stopped breathing all together when Clarke fell apart completely in the hidden world of a forest soaked by blood’s shadows.

She fought the urge to rush and comfort the blonde leader. She couldn’t. She would not be welcomed.

When Clarke fell to the ground, her knees hitting the hard suface with a loud sound, Lexa felt the pain echoing in her own body.

Lexa knew it was the first of many days of torture for the leader fallen from the sky, fallen from the edge of the universe, and currently falling from a life full of hope to another one, much darker. She knew, because she had been there too, at a point so low in her existence, drowning in a world without air, without anything to rely on, without a road to walk on.

She knew because of the countless days she had spent pretending to be someone she wasn’t, wearing the cape of a hero when she felt like a sinister devil.

She related to the guilt flooding through Clarke’s veins, because she still had her own blood poisoned by it. It made her world cursed by the specific pain of being overwhelmed by wishing she could do, could have done, more, while knowing there was no other exit. It was the urging need to do more, to do differently, but the knowledge she could not force herself to act this way. It was a feeling she could not escape simply by ignoring it, for it jumped back at her at the most unexpected times, sucking all her identity away, replacing it with the sole sense of being wrong, while knowing she had been right, no matter what it meant.

It made her existence a living hell, and she could not stop existing, Heda never would.

She looked at Clarke, and saw a deformed mirrored version of herself, because she still felt the weight of every loss she suffered, every murder she committed, every family she destroyed and every piece of her soul she sold, on her conscience.

She looked at Clarke, and saw her innocence, being stolen away once again. Except this time, it hurt even more, because she could not do anything to lessen the blow.

She could not protect Clarke, no matter how much she wanted it.

She looked at Clarke, and all she saw was Clarke.

Clarke, the woman who fell from the stars. The woman whose lips tasted like eternal youth, whose touch felt like a cure against loneliness, whose voice scared the war cries away.

She knew what Clarke had done to Mount Weather would never leave her, would never let her rest, would never allow her a moment of peace. She craved the idealist dreams she knew they both had had torn away from their reach. As she listened to Clarke pleading to the ghosts that now haunted her, Lexa sat above on a branch, her back to the sun, remembering the last time she felt proud of herself.

A very long time ago, when atrocities did not rule her life yet.

A lifetime ago, an eternity, a forever long forgotten by now.

A few days ago, when she had allowed herself to reach for human comfort for the first time since Costia’s death.

There was a whole universe between who she used to be, and the stranger that now inhabited her mind. She knew Clarke felt the same. She knew Clarke would die to forget, but also to always remember, the genocide she felt responsible for, regardless of the notions of right and wrong. There was no going back now. It had last a minute in Mount Weather, but it would remain engraved in her soul long after her last breath.

Actions didn’t define someone.

But in their cases, it did. It was inevitable. Heda and Wanheda. It was who they were, who they would always be to the eyes of their people. It was their hands that had abducted thousand of lives. It was their mouths that had ordered the attacks. It was their body that had been chosen to carry the consequences

The only moment when they weren’t leaders, when they were two ordinary women, had been in that tent, away from the looks of the world.

And that place was no longer a possibility to seek shelter.

She observed Clarke all day, making sure she could not be seen, heard or smelled by the other woman. Lexa didn’t once interact with the woman she had been kissing days ago. The fresh memory of their body melting subtly together made her lose focus for a moment, and she struggled to keep herself composed, almost slipping down her hiding place.

She fought the tears when she realized, the only kiss she would receive now from Clarke would be the one of a knife or a gun.

How could perfection transform to its opposite in such a short amount of time? How could perfection be even allowed to turn into such mess? Had it ever been perfection, or had they just both been blinded by what they wanted to be, rather than what was?

Lexa bit her lower lip slightly when she realized that she had allowed herself to believe, even for a few seconds, in happiness. This was not a luxery she could afford, not in this life, not in the next.

Clarke did not eat, did not drink, did not once show another emotion than the crushing guilt she was suffering from, all day, and it tore Lexa apart to be the sole witness of this indirect death. The blonde leader was merely a shadow, an echo of herself. She had never thought herself capable of becoming a monster, until she had already turned to one, realizing it too late to go back.

This was a new world, one that expected nothing more than the skills of survival, and spitted on any sense of empathy.

It was a world Lexa had wanted to defy a long time ago, only to fall against the hands of reality.

It was a world Clarke wanted to defy, but her battles were inexblicably lost one after another.

“I killed them. I burned them. I murdered them. I had no choice. I had a choice. I killed them,” Clarke repeated like a mantra every few minutes, unable to let any other words come out of her mouth, unaware of a guardian’s presence above her.

Lexa watched until her equal fell asleep, exhaustion finally having the best of the frele silhouette. Only then did she allow herself to step to the ground and stretch her muscles.

Only then did she notice the way Clarke’s body had scars and marks of her physical pain.

Only then did she notice the way Clarke’s body shivered from the cold breeze of the night.

Only then did she notice the way Clarke’s eyes were shut hard, evidence of a nightmarish turmoil hiding behind them.

Only then did she hear the imperceptible murmurs calling her name as the sleeping leader fought monsters while she was supposed to rest peacefully.

Lexa listened for the sound of any creature that would dare disturb Clarke’s sleep, and, finding none, proceeded to gather small branches. Not one of them made a sound when Lexa dropped them beside Clarke. It took her less than a minute to assemble a pile and light it up.

The fire came to life a few minutes later, warming the now cold air surrounding the two figures. Its heat progressively made Clarke’s body stop shaking, and Lexa thought she heard a sigh of relief coming from the blonde. The green eyed leader let a smile escape her lips for a few seconds.

What a fool Clarke was, to fall asleep without proper heat to ensure hypothermia didn’t get the best of her. And Lexa felt her stomach turned upside down when she realized, perhaps Clarke wouldn’t mind this scenario.

“Your heart shows no sign of weakness,” she whispered to the emptiness, feeling the double edged sword carrying those words. 

She silently wished weakness was allowed in this world. She could used weakness’ wisdom.

She made sure once again that Clarke was in the land of dreams before getting up. She retrieved her knife from her side. The night sky illuminated her way to a prey she easily killed, a rabbit large enough to feed two strong warriors.

Her thoughts wandered wildely under the stars gazing upon them, her soul no longer confined by the walls of her responsabilities when she was by herself.

Her entire being was a weapon, and she had attacked Clarke despite her best intentions.

Lexa felt inexplicably attached to Clarke. She didn’t know how to define those feelings, but they were hovering over her, like permanent clouds obscuring her usual path. They changed everything for her. They changed the way she acted, the parts of her she felt buzzing alive, the words she spoke, and brought back a version of her she had thought lost forever.

Clarke brought back the person she was behind Heda.

The very least Lexa could do for Clarke was to keep her safe long enough for the blonde leader to remember she was more than Wanheda.

Not one second did she leave Clarke’s side that night.

She chased away animals trying to disturb them, softly whispered in Clarke’s ears when the blonde’s bad dreams increased in intensity, and kept the fire bright and high to illuminate the darkness threatening to swallow them alive. She never once closed her eyes for more than the time it took her to blink, letting her pupils naviguate between the woods and the woman she swore to protect weeks ago.

When the sun rose, she climbed back in the trees, erasing all traces of her presence. She sat in the middle of the greenest leaves, still wide awake, not allowing herself to lower her guard as she saw Clarke emerged to yet another endless day.

***

When Clarke felt the sun on her skin, she only had one realization in her mind.

She was alive.

She was alive, and she was not cold.

She didn’t know why she felt so relieved at this fact. She hadn’t thought of the cold when she had let herself fall into Morpheus’s arms last night. She hadn’t cared enough, truth be told. But now, breathing and feeling her body ache from the constant walk she’d done the previous day, she knew she wanted to live. She had never thought about death in a glorious way. It wasn’t something she was particulary attracted to. She only saw it as an escape, and right now, she wanted to feel everything.

Every soul she’d offered death as a gift, she wanted to remember it, to feel it collide with her conscience every woken hour of her life. She had to bear it. She had to.

She could bear it. If she couldn’t, she’d had to force herself to. There was no way she would ever allow herself to give this burden to anyone else. There was no way she ever could.

She had pulled the lever, it was her responsability. It was her fight, hers only.

She wondered if this meant it was over; the war, the barbary, the blood baths. She wondered if she had not dreamt the whole scheme of events, if she had truly been betrayed, or if she had only been victim of her own naivety.

She wondered if she had the taste of freedom on her tongue, or if she was back on the Ark, behind bars, this time for a legitimate reason.

She wondered if being prisoner of her mind meant physical freedom. She wondered why freedom could not be aquired freely, why it had to come at the price of her soul.

Freedom was a strange thing itself. It did not want to be caught, but it taunted its hunters by waving promises of a paradise barely out of their reach. It ran ahead of them, always one step too far for them to catch up. It flew wildely around them, invisible, intouchable, insentitive to their attemps at catching it. It demanded a price few would be ready to pay.

Clarke wondered if was really over, or if they were simply pretending it was, until another war came and wipe their worlds away.

She got on her feet and immediately noticed fresh animal’s tracks. When she followed them, she discovered the remaining of a rabbit’s body on the ground. Its meat was raw and bloody, but there was plenty of time for her to light a fire and cook it the way she could feed herself.

She silently thanked whoever guided her for finding the rabbit. She was in no mood to kill anyone, anything else. It was a rudimentary meal, and it tasted slightly disgusting, but it gave her enough strength to start walking again. She had no idea where she was heading, but she knew she had to walk away from Camp Jaha, from anything that would remind her of the Mountain.

Too bad she couldn’t run from herself.

A wave of nausea crashed into her, as if it was coming from the heavens at the speed of light, and the young woman had to steady herself against the nearest tree. Looking down at the ground, feeling her eyes hurt once again under many drops of salted water, she clenched her fists and punched the strong tree, flinching at the pain racing up her arms.

She punched until she had no force left in her arms, until her joints were hurting so much she couldn’t feel them anymore. She kept striking as hard as she could, ignoring the trickling blood starting to form a small puddle at her feet.

It was not enough.

It would never be enough, the physical pain would never match the way she felt as if a sword kept hitting her heart over and over again, never giving her the ending she ached for.

She kept thrusting her fists until she fell the ground again, blood soaking her hands, blinded by anger.

She didn’t wash the wounds as she got up and started walking toward the unknown.

She didn’t notice the shadow quietly getting up, ready to follow wherever she would go.

The next morning, she didn’t realize the wound had been washed and desinfected until late in the evening.

***

It lasted a week, the same routine. Clarke was unable to light a fire that would last more than a few minutes after she had fallen asleep.

Every night, Lexa traded the height of the tree for the hard ground, lighting up a new fire and hunting Clarke a new meal.

Every night, just as the stars started their ascension toward a different world, she put the fire out, dispersed the branches, and hid the pile of ashes under dirt.

Every morning, she traced a fresh path of some unknown animal to make sure Clarke would find the meat she carefully disposed to make it seem like a fresh animalistic kill. It helped that Clarke was still new to this environement and couldn’t tell the accuracy of some suspicious patterns.

Everytime Clarke woke up, she was stunned at how comfortable she felt, how the cold had never been able to pierce her thin layer of clothes. Every morning, she found new tracks, almost as if the forest itself couldn’t support the thought of her not surviving another day. Every morning, she heard water in proximity, and had found a tiny cascade not too far from her temporary camp.

Eventually, Clarke noticed her hands had healed unexpectedly well, and she took a few seconds to look around, not really knowing what or who she was looking for.

She gave up when she realized whatever, or whoever, she subconsciously expected to find, she didn’t want to find it.

Lexa was blown away by how strong this woman was, and how beautiful she stood against her fate.

She witnessed Clarke’s guilt taking over three more times until it finally stopped. Each time, her own heart echoed Clarke’s, the guilt of all her past actions crushing her until she was left lifeless.

Every time Lexa had to go back hiding, she wished she didn’t have to.

She wished they didnt’t have to.

The day came when Lexa received threats from Polis, the Ice Nation representants, asking her to return to her responsabilities. Azgeda wished her to come back to discuss of her position as Heda. The story of the mountain slayer had transcended all grounders lands, and Lexa was no longer considered the powerful leader she once was.

She ignored them.

She received more threats, words of her being irresponsible being shared amongst every clan of the coalition.

She ignored them.

She had no idea how far she was ready to follow Clarke, but she knew one thing, it was not far enough yet.

She couldn’t leave until she knew Clarke would be safe by herself. She felt the light pressure of weakness on her back, but she pretended it didn’t exist.

She had a lifetime of experience in pretending to do her duty, when truly, she was lost in a maze of blurry feelings.

She kept waiting for Clarke to fall asleep, this time to keep the sky leader’s already lightened fire alive. She made sure to have animals ready in Clarke’s path, already dead, until Clarke herself made her first kill. Lexa then decided to step aside for those needs. Clarke needed to gather strength. Killing animals was a necessity for food, but also for Clarke’s abilities as a survivor.

Lexa only made sure to keep the larger opponents away, killing them before they could ever notice Clarke’s scent.

She barely had any sleep, too busy making sure Clarke had plenty. She knew how to recognize the signs of a nightmare, and how to make them go away without waking up the woman whose eyes reminded her every day of the beauty of the ocean, and whose hair stole the sun’s brightness despite being dirty.

She figured Clarke deserved sleep more than she did. She figured Clarke probably didn’t even feel rested because of the haunting dreams.

Like a mysterious symbiosis, if Clarke wasn’t at the top of her shape, Lexa couldn’t be either.

When rain started to fall in the middle of the night, glacial and freezing its way to the ground, Lexa built a temporary shelter above Clarke’s fire and Clarke’s sleeping body. The ground leader shivered all night, barely able to feel her extremities while she attached wood together, but Clarke didn’t stir out of sleep, and that was enough to give Lexa the motivation to do it again the following three nights.

She only took the shelter down a few minutes before Clarke’s usual wake up time.

She had the conviction Clarke would’ve done the same, had their roles been reversed.

When Clarke came across a deep river, unable to cross it, Lexa had taken the night to stab the nearest tree trunk repeatedly, blisters forming on her already calloused hands. It had fallen quietly, held back by Lexa’s bleeding hands.

She knew Clarke could not continue to go foward, or she would land into Ice Nation’s territories. The last time someone she cared about had crossed those boundaries, Lexa had not seen her alive again. She would not make the same mistake again, even if it meant sacrifying energy and sleep to make a tree fall in the middle of the night.

Lexa knew who Clarke was bound to find once she crossed the river. She knew, and she didn’t enjoy it, but it was better than risking having heads being cut off.

The next morning, Clarke had crossed the river, questions in her mind, but denying the only answer she could think of to explain this magical fallen tree.

“Lexa.”

It was the only possibility, and Clarke let the name escape her lips before she could trapped it back where it belonged, in a somber place. Lexa felt her entire body react to her name.

“LEXA!”

The scream was a powerful one, one that came from the deepest parts of Clarke, the ones broken under forgotten promises and shattered alliances. It left Clarke breathless, panting as she frantically looked around, eyes shooting bullets and jaw clenched under adrenaline.

Lexa did not flinch. She would bear Clarke’s hatred if it lessened Clarke’s pain. She would not apologize.

There was nothing to apologize for, but she would take Clarke’s pain and carry it like her own, because it was, her own.

That same rudimentary trunk bridge led Clarke to a woman named Niylah, and Lexa watched with a bitter expression as her protégé became a regular customer at the trade post.

Lexa had left Polis for already three weeks when Ice Nation issued a formal demand to meet with her. She had gone back, and spoken with them. She had agreed to remain in Polis to keep her appearances.

Every night, she left Polis and raced toward Clarke’s latest location, found the sky leader again, and made sure she was safe. Every morning, she came back, exhausted, black hole forming under her tired eyes. She didn’t trust anyone else to look after Clarke.

She never complained, and no one ever asked her about those disappearances.

Slowly, she noticed Clarke gaining confidence again, killing larger animals, and speaking her language. The latest aspect made her heart race more than she wanted to admit to herself.

When Clarke seemed to be able to stand on her own, Lexa did not stop her night visits.

Perhaps she wanted some time away for the city too.

Perhaps she just didn’t want to let go of a memory.

Perhaps if she left Clarke, Lexa thought she would lose a piece of herself in the process, and for the first time in years, it scared her.

She had never been ready to say goodbye to Clarke, not when Mount Weather offered the deal, and certainly not now. Clarke made sense in a world full of inconsistecies.

She watched as Clarke transformed to another person. She witnessed Clarke losing herself in a different persona, a woman she was not. Her heart ached for thinking about everything Clarke had been, and the stricking differences with the panther hunter she had become.

Clarke went from falling apart everyday, to hiding under a fierce mask, one that didn’t let anything pass through. She went from being suffocated by feelings to pretending she never had any. Nevermind Finn and Wells, Charlotte or Atom, Clarke would not allow herself to dwell in the past except for the memory of burnt skin and moans of torture.

She truly adopted Wanheda’s life as her own.

Lexa didn’t blame Clarke. She didn’t blame herself, even if the thought crossed her mind. It was not their fault. It was no one’s. All they had wanted was to live, to be the last one standing. They couldn’t have known how high the price would’ve been.

Ironically, it took Ice Nation’s rumors of wanting to find the legendary Wanheda to put an end to Lexa’s nocturne secrets.

From then, she stayed awake every night, but only to formulate thousand of plans to make sure Ice Nation never had a single idea of Clarke’s whereabouts. She went back only twice a week, rather than everyday, to cover Clarke’s messy traces. She spoke to Niylah, and commanded her to keep Clarke safe. She directed a warrior from another clan toward a dead end cliff when he was about to trap Clarke late at night, and kept it a secret.

It was the first and only time she betrayed her convictions to protect someone.

She dealt with the son of her sworn enemy.

Ice Nation wanted to kill Wanheda, the Mountain Slayer.

Lexa wished nothing more than for things to be different, for their worlds to not be so radically opposed, yet so intimately interwined.

She would break all known boundaries, and all those yet to be discovered, for another life, in another circumstances, that would allow her to touch Clarke’s heart without fear of repercussions.

She would decimate nations, and bear their deaths on her back, if it meant Clarke was allowed to breathe freely of this burden.

The only thing she could do was swear to bring Clarke, the Clarke she knew still existed despite the twisted world they survived in,  back to life, even if it meant losing hers in the process.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working a new multi chapters story, in which Clarke & Lexa find each other during a trip around the world.
> 
> *High five to all of us on surviving two months without Lexa*


End file.
